


House on a hill

by Moonstruckidiot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the fall sometime, Decaying house, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17324603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonstruckidiot/pseuds/Moonstruckidiot
Summary: So I submitted this to after the fall zine and it didn’t get in. Tbh I kinda wrote it whilst drinking too many baileys on Boxing Day and it was not specifically written for the zine. It’s an experiment and Will and Hannibal do not appear in person in this fic 😀. It’s not a ghost fic though, more about the impression they leave behind them.So picture Will and Hannibal on the run and they stay somewhere for a few days before moving on. 😊





	House on a hill

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have a beta so sorry for errors, 😊💖💕🐶🦊

There’s a house on a hill. It’s old and disused. The roof leaks, wooden window frames rot, carpets curl in corners and moss forms thick and luscious on the outside brick work.

 

Ten, maybe fifteen years ago, builders came with the intent to turn it back into a home but after a few weeks they left and never returned. The scaffolding they erected still clings to the house, a little worn by the forces of nature but sturdy still.

 

None of the neighbours know why this once fine house was allowed to decay, but its decline is so familiar that few now give it a passing glance. Months go by, autumn turns to winter and winter to spring before anyone looks.

 

It’s the gardener, hired by the neighbours to stop the garden from running wild, who notices something amiss. He’s kneeling, pulling weeds, when he frowns and puts down his tools. Standing, he scratches his beard and looks up at a table cloth. It’s positioned in front of a large window and covers a barely discernible table. He’s sure it wasn’t there last summer, or the one before that, or the one before that.

 

The next morning five men from the neighbourhood enter the house. They stand in the hallway their hearts beating rapidly, their breath caught in their throats and they listen.

 

Mice skitter under floorboards and birds coo in the attic but to the human ear there’s not a sound, at least nothing which would catch and crawl through the mind.

 

So the men move forward.

 

The cloth lays squared on the table, a silver candelabra crowning it. From the window there’s an unobstructed view down to a lake and a sky where stars shine bright. It’s easy to imagine two lovers sat sipping wine, hands outstretched, fingers linked, admiring the view.

 

There’s a collection of candles piled on the windowsill. They dripped and set long enough ago for a fine layer of dust to have settled.

 

The stillness is reassuring it settles the searchers minds. None are tough men or heroes, they’d rather not come across any beasts lurking in the shadows.

 

But just to be sure they search every room passing by mildewed furniture and forgotten toys.

 

There’s a bed in one of the rooms. The pillows are plumped and sheets neatly tucked into corners.It’s waiting for the night when bodies entwine and moans echo, but the musty, dusty room has been waiting for some time.

 

They pull the bedroom door shut and move on sure now there is nothing to find, whoever was here is long gone.

 

In silence they walk down the stairs, open the front door and in unison breathe out.

 

They take the path that leads through a wooded area, pass an ornate pond now green with algae, a bench whose slats lie on the floor and a tree whose bark bears the initials WG 🖤 HL.


End file.
